There's No Money In Poetry, But Then

When I'm Killed, Don't Think Of Me Buried There In Cambrin Wood, Nor As In Zion Think Of Me With The Intolerable Good. And There's One Thing That I Know Well, I'm Damned If I'll Be Damned To Hell!

No Honest Theologian Therefore Can Deny That His Acceptance Of Jesus As Christ Logically Binds Every Christian To A Belief In Reincarnation - In Elias Case (who Was Later John The Baptist) At Least.

Where Nature With Accustomed Round Sweeps And Garnishes The Ground With Kindly Beauty, Warm Or Cold Alternate Seasons Never Old: Heathen, How Furiously You Rage, Cursing This Blood And Brimstone Age, How Furiously Against Your Will You Kill And Kill Again, And Kill: All Thought Of Peace Behind You Cast, Till Like Small Boys With Fear Aghast, Each Cries For God To Understand, 'i Could Not Help It, It Was My Hand.

The Poet's First Rule Must Be Never To Bore His Readers; And His Best Way Of Keeping This Rule Is Never To Bore Himself-which, Of Course, Means To Write Only When He Has Something Urgent To Say.

No Poem Is Worth Anything Unless It Starts From A Poetic Trance, Out Of Which You Can Be Wakened By Interruption As From A Dream. In Fact, It Is The Same Thing.